


Dawn Summers and the Rise of Roman Imperialism.

by steeleye



Series: Back in the SPQR. [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, Minor Xover with the HBO/BBc show 'Rome'.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steeleye/pseuds/steeleye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working as Giles' assistant, Dawn is there when a crate turns up, inside is a pretty box, some Roman artefacts and…Ooops! Dawn is lost in time! Prequel to the 'Back in the SPQR' series of stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One.

Dawn Summers and the Rise of Roman Imperialism.

By Steeleye.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Buffyverse or anything else that might appear in this work of fanfiction. I write these stories for fun not profit.

 **Crossover:** The Buffyverse with a minor prequel for the BBC/HBO series ‘ROME’.

**Spelling:** Grammar and Punctuation; Written in glorious English-English which is different to American-English.

**Timeline:** Set two or three years after BtVS S7, no comics.

**Words:** Seven chapters each of about 3000 words.

**Warnings:** Some strong language, some scenes of a sexual nature, some violence.

Summary: Working as Giles' assistant, Dawn is there when a crate turns up, inside is a pretty box, some Roman artefacts and…Ooops! Dawn is lost in time! Prequel to the 'Back in the SPQR' series of stories.

0=0=0=0

**Crankie Manor, Cornwall.**

It was mid-spring, the flowers and trees were in bloom and even the weather was improving; some days you could actually go outside without fear of being blown off the moor. Breathing a sigh of relief Rupert Giles sorted through yet more note books and placed them neatly on the shelves in his new 'Watcher’s Library'. Dawn, who worked as his fulltime research assistant, sat at her desk typing away on her computer. 

Everything had gone back to normal after that unfortunate business with Dawn opening portals and people being dragged backwards and forwards in time. Fortunately she hadn’t appeared to have done any damage to the timeline, so all was well once more. However Giles still wished that Willow had never started to teach Dawn about magic…but, that was all water under the bridge now and it was no use crying over spilt milk or any other saying that fitted the situation.

“Giles?”

Giles turned to see Dawn heave a large, black, tin box onto her desk.

“What do you want to do with this?” she indicated the box, “It’s got quite an unusual protection spell on it so we’ll need to be careful opening it.”

“Hmm,” Giles walked over and examined the box, “where did it come from?”

“Let’s see,” Dawn consulted a sheet of paper that had been taped to the box, “says here that it was bought by one of the London Watchers from an antique store. He noticed the magical field and thought it was best if we had it.”

“Hmm,” Giles repeated as he peered at the box and polished his glasses, “magic you say?” he looked at Dawn, “I think we’ve had more than enough magic around here for a while.”

“Well if you don’t want to open that, what about this?” Bending down Dawn picked up what looked like a roll of very old stair carpet; she dumped it on her desk causing a small cloud of dust to rise around her. “What’s it to be?” Dawn asked, taking swipes at the dust motes with her hand, “Open the box or roll out the carpet?”

Giles looked from the box to the carpet and wondered what to do, they’d have to look at one of them; this was supposed to be a library not a dumping ground for wayward magical items.

“Let’s take a look at…” Giles was interrupted by a loud knock on the door; making his patent ‘annoyed clucking noise’ he turned to look at the door, “Come in,” he called.

The door banged open shattering the ordered calm of the library; two young slayers struggled in carrying a large wooden box between them.

“Careful!” Giles cried as the slayers banged the box against the polished wooden door frame scratching it rather badly.

“Where you want this?” a petite east European girl looked over her shoulder at Giles.

“W-what…?” Giles was flustered by the sudden appearance of the girls; he ran over to guide them into the room hoping to prevent any further damage to the two-hundred year old fabric of the manor.

“Miss Buffy say this for you,” grinned the girl, “we leave here.” 

The girls dumped the box in the middle of the room and left before anyone could stop them.

“NO!” cried Giles after the departing girls, “Don’t…” he pointed helplessly at the crate.

But it was too late the girls had gone slamming the door behind them. Giles tutted and sighed angrily as he polished his spectacles vigorously. Dawn smirked to herself; she could tell just how angry Giles was by how energetically he polished his glasses. This was about an ‘eight’ on the ‘Giles is annoyed’ scale. Dawn decided that she didn’t want to be Buffy when Giles next saw her.

“Let me guess,” Dawn walked from behind her desk and over to the box, “we’ll totally be opening this box next?”

“I suppose so,” Giles sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable, he bent down and gave the box’s rope handle an experimental tug, the box wouldn’t budge, “lend a hand Dawn.” 

Even with both of them heaving on the handle the box still wouldn’t move; which was probably just as well because it would have scratched the polished wooden floor.

“I could magic it into the corner,” Dawn offered, waggling her fingers as if she was some sort of pantomime character casting a spell.

“NO!” Giles cried just a little too loudly, he saw the hurt look on Dawn’s face, “No, thank-you Dawn,” he added in a calmer tone of voice, “I don’t think we need magic here. Let’s just open it and see what we’ve got.”

Giving Giles another slightly hurt look, Dawn took the envelope that was taped to the top of the box, while Giles went in search of a crowbar. Ripping open the envelope she read the cover note it contained.

“Oh!” Dawn sounded surprised, “It’s from the Bishop of Bath and Wells…”

“The new one?” Giles asked as he searched through the drawers of his desk looking for the elusive crowbar.

“Of course it’s from the new one,” Dawn glanced over her shoulder, “try the stationary cupboard,” she suggested; Giles went over to the cupboard and opened the door. “Of course it’s from the new one,” Dawn repeated as she ran her eye over the letter, “we had the baby eating one killed, remember?”

“Oh yes,” Giles paused in his search for a moment, “silly me…how could I forget? Aha! Here we are,” triumphantly he held up the crowbar.

“It says here,” Dawn studied the letter, “that the box is full of Roman artefacts that ‘we’, as in the Slayer’s and Guardian’s Council, might find interesting…”

“Is that all?” Giles advanced on the box crowbar in hand.

“Yep,” Dawn nodded before looking at the letter again.

“No list of contents or anything?”

“Erm...” Dawn checked both sides of the letter, “...nope.”

“Oh,” Giles looked at the crate uncertainly, “you better stand back,” Giles waved his assistant back as he inserted the end of the crowbar under the lid of the box.

He was probably over reacting, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Although the Church of England wasn’t known for its vindictiveness, religious organisations often didn’t appreciate having any of its senior members assassinated. The wood of the crate creaked loudly as Giles pushed down on the crowbar. Putting his fingers into the gap between the box and the lid he heaved up and pulled the lid free. Placing it to one side he peered into the box.

“What’ve we got Giles?” Dawn asked from the safety of the other side of the room.

“Bloody hell!” gasped Giles.

“What is it?” Dawn skipped excitedly over to look in the box, “Gold? Jewels? The answer to life the universe and everything?” Her face fell as she caught a glimpse of the crate’s contents, “Oh,” she sniffed, “fire wood…oh well it could have been worse it might have been snakes or something, then we’d have to…”

“Dawn?”

“Yeah?” Dawn looked brightly at Giles and noticed the rapped look on his face for the first time.

“Shut up Dawn…please,” Giles fell to his knees next to the box and gazed in wonder at its contents.

Dawn Summers was many things, stunningly attractive and a witch, to name just two, oh and totally unappreciated by her big sister; that made three just off the top of her head. But insensitive wasn’t one of them, at least to anybody who wasn’t her sister ‘cause well big sisters were totally so…Dawn dragged her mind back to the here and now. So, she asked herself, if Giles was going all ‘I’ve found the answer to all the mysteries of the universe’ over some bits of wood with writing on them, they must be pretty important. 

“What are they Giles?” Dawn reached into the box to pick up what she now saw to be thin wooden postcards.

“DON’T TOUCH!” Dawn snatched her hand back at Giles’ yell, “At least not without gloves on,” he added.

“Are they dangerous?” Dawn went over to the stationary cupboard and collected pairs of latex gloves for Giles and herself. “Are we in danger of being poisoned or something…I always said that old men who dress up in frocks and have invisible friends weren’t to be trusted.”

Dawn was beginning to think that the Church of England might be out for revenge after all.

“No it’s nothing like that,” Giles had put on his gloves and was carefully lifting one of the ‘postcards’ out of the box.

Standing up he went over to the window by Dawn’s desk to study the ‘tile’ in natural light.

“Come on Giles,” Dawn was almost hoping from foot to foot in her excitement, “what is it?”

“Well,” Giles lifted his glasses to look at the tile, “if I’m not very much mistaken…”

“Yes!?” Dawn tried to peep over Giles’ shoulder to see what he’d got.

“What we have here are the first drafts, as it were of…”

“Of what?” Dawn demanded, “The Wizard of Oz?”

“No much more important than that,” Giles replaced his glasses and looked at Dawn as if she’d gone slightly mad.

“More important than the Wizard of Oz?” Dawn was clearly shocked.

“Most definitely,” Giles went back to the box and replaced the tile, “no, what we have here is possibly the first draft for Julius Caesar’s Gallic Wars…or at least one book of it.”

“Huh?” For the third time today Dawn’s life reached an anti-climax, “What?” 

Giles gave Dawn one of his pitying looks that he used every time he found a hole in her education.

“I take it you’ve heard of Julius Caesar?”

“Well duh,” Dawn replied not sounding at all as grown-up as she liked to think she was.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Giles continued in his slightly annoying ‘cleverer than thou’, tone of voice, “Julius Caesar wrote a book called The Gallic Wars about…”

“Let me guess,” Dawn screwed up her face as if she was thinking really hard, “the garlic wars?”

“That’s the Gallic Wars,” corrected Giles, “you really should listen Dawn, how do you expect to learn anything?”

Dawn stuck her tongue out at the librarian who raised a disapproving eyebrow in reply.

“So how come there’s all this wood,” in spite of herself Dawn was actually interested, it had just been a bit of a shock to find that Giles thought this was more important than the Wizard of Oz; she attributed it to his Britishness.

“Well,” Giles slipped effortlessly into ‘lecture mode’, “In those days they wrote on parchment which was expensive. So, they used to write a first draft on birch wood tiles or wax tablets before making a ‘fair copy’ onto parchment. They found an entire cache of letters up on Hadrian’s Wall written on tiles like these some years ago, I remember I…”

“So these are important?” Dawn had suddenly become very serious, “Valuable even?”

“Oh beyond price,” Giles picked up another tile to study it.

“So we better look after them then?” Dawn walked back to her desk and picked up the phone; a few minutes later the library was guarded by four heavily armed young slayers.

0=0=0=0

Additional tables had been placed all around the library onto which Dawn and Giles carefully transferred the fragile wooden tiles. They had laid them out in neat rows and Giles was just starting to get them into some sort of order.

“From what I can make out,” he moved tiles from one table to another, “we have what looks like most of Book V, which deals with Caesar’s invasion of Britain in about 54BC. Is there anything else left in the box?”

“No more tile thingies,” Dawn looked into the box, “there’s what looks like one or more stone slabs. The top ones got a face and some writing carved into it,” she bent down and tried to lift the slab. “It’s too heavy,” she announced, “we’ll need Buffy or someone to do the heavy lifting.”

“Dawn,” said Giles warningly, the sisters were still a little angry at each other over one of Dawn’s magical outbursts.

“Oh,” Dawn moved some packing to reveal a small wooden box, “there’s something else here.”

Picking up the box Dawn saw that it was about four inches on a side and maybe two deep. The lid and sides were inlayed with lighter coloured wood and what was probably ivory making a geomorphic pattern over the surface of the box. Holding it up to the light Dawn found that the box opened on two tiny hinges. Opening the lid she looked in to find…

“Oooh! Pretty,” Dawn cooed softly.

There nestled on a blue velvet cushion was a large red ruby in a gold and silver setting, absently Dawn stroked the stone with her finger and…she felt herself stretching and being pulled into the gem, she cried out in panic.

“GIIIIIIIILES!”

0=0=0=0

Finger frozen in front of the clock on the mantle piece, Giles looked around, puzzled. Shaking his head he dismissed the thought, he’d almost been sure that he’d heard someone call his name; never mind, he thought. For what felt like the tenth time today he put the old clock on the mantelpiece right. It never kept time properly and one day he really must find the time to get it fixed. It really was a nice old clock, too good to just throw away.

Putting the clock right he turned to face the library, it was a mess. Boxes and books littered every surface and half full crates lay scattered around the floor. He sighed, he really needed to talk to Buffy about getting him an assistant; this was too much work for one man. Sighing once again he walked slowly through the obstacle course that was the Watcher’s Library and sat down behind his desk.

0=0=0=0

**South-east Britain, 54BCE.**

Admiring her new outfit Ariawen stood on the bank of the pool and watched her reflection. Her lips formed a frown as she looked at herself; a pool wasn’t a very satisfactory mirror. Alright, she had a good bronze mirror somewhere in her saddlebag on the pack pony, but that was only really any good for when she was combing her hair or applying her make-up; it would be even better if it was silver, but she’d never be able to afford such a luxury.

No, the pool would have to do; she looked down at her red and blue checked trousers, they were just a little too long, and she’d need to sew them up before the material got frayed. Her dark blue tunic with its yellow stripes however fitted her perfectly…or so Marbod the Druid claimed. It was baggy and hid her figure, of which she was justly proud; but Marbod had said that it was probably best that they hid the fact that she was a woman. Her hand went automatically to her hair; Marbod had also insisted that she cut off her long, beautiful, red-gold hair. That had made her cry and even the old druid had looked as if he was sorry for doing it.

Sighing sadly Ariawen picked up her belt and sword and buckled it around her slim waist, the sword had been cut down from a warrior’s weapon so it didn’t drag along the ground, and although she was tall for a woman she was still too short to comfortably carry a longsword on her hip, in fact all her war gear had been cut down to fit her shorter stature. Turning away from the pool Ariawen walked slowly back to where the horses stood eating the fresh summer grass. Looking around she saw that Marbod was nowhere to be seen.

“MARBOD!” Ariawen yelled as she watched the trees and bushes around the pool for any sign of the old druid.

Cocking her head she listened carefully, since she’d ‘changed’ (it was the best way she could describe what had happened to her) her hearing and eyesight had improved dramatically. She’d found she could see in the dark almost as well as she could during the day and she could see things clearly even when they were a long way off. Her hearing had improved so she could hear a mouse creeping through the fields fifty paces away…which was really annoying because all the noise kept her awake at night. She’d had to learn to block out the noises people and things made before she could get any sleep.

“MARBOD!” the girl called again, “Where are you-you silly old fool?”

Kicking at a stone Ariawen went over to her pony and patted his neck; the animal turned his head and thrust his nose at her hoping for an apple or some other little treat.

“Sorry, old boy, nothing for you today,” the pony nodded his head in understanding before going back to cropping the grass.

It was her new found strength that had frightened the people of her settlement the most. If it hadn’t been for the fact that her father was a powerful chief, she felt sure she’d have been driven out or maybe even killed. There had been dark mutterings that she was possessed by demons and she would bring ruin on the tribe. Fortunately, Abellio, a druid who lived in the woods near her father’s fort, had pointed out that she could quite as equally have been touched by the gods and would bring great fame and honour to the tribe. No one was willing to argue with both the chief and the druid and the muttering about her had died down; it hadn’t stopped but at least people didn’t point at her and make signs to ward off the evil eye anymore.

Then there were the dreams, if it hadn’t been for those Ariawen could have happily come to terms with her new found abilities and made something of them. But the dreams frightened her, she knew she shouldn’t be; the gods had obviously chosen her to be a great warrior, but the monsters she saw terrified her to a point that some nights she was too frightened to go to sleep. It had been seeing his daughter’s obvious terror that had convinced her father to send for Marbod, a wise and old druid; he would know what to do.

Smiling to herself Ariawen drew her sword and took a few practice swings at a bush; the old man had still not shown himself. If the truth was known Marbod had no more idea what Ariawen had turned into than anyone else. The difference was that he could hide it better and could confuse people with his clever arguments, he’d certainly confused her father. He’d confused him enough to let Marbod take her to face the expected Roman invasion. The old man was now convinced, after a great deal of thinking on the subject, and not a little beer, that Ariawen had been sent by the gods to help defeat the invaders. He had ignored her protests that she didn’t think so; that unless the Romans sported fangs and drank blood from people’s necks, she was supposed to fight the monsters that came to her in her dreams.

The old druid had laughed and called her a silly girl; she'd nearly punched the old fool, she was a chief’s daughter and (so it seemed) a great warrior. No one called her a ‘silly girl’ and got away without being punished. He said that the dreams where the gods’ way of telling her she needed to fight the Romans. Ariawen had countered by saying that it was obvious to her that her dreams were the gods’ way of telling her to fight monsters! They argued a lot about this.

“MARDOD!” she gave it one more try, “If you don’t reappear by my count of five, I’ll ride off and leave you.”

Sheathing her sword she vaulted onto the back of her pony. Looking around, there was still no sign of the old fool, she picked up the lead rein of the pack pony, turning the horses towards the coast she made ready to ride off. Just as she was about to put heel to horse, Marbod burst from the bushes.

“Going to ride off without me, girl?” the old man pulled twigs from his long grey beard and hair.

“Yes,” Ariawen replied honestly.

“No patience,” the old man muttered as he caught hold of his pony’s reins and heaved himself up onto the creature’s back, “young people today…when I was a boy…”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Ariawen pursed her lips in annoyance, “When you were young everyone was respectful of their elders blah, blah, I’ve heard it all before.”

Marbod gave Ariawen a hurt look, she’d interrupted him as he was about to start on his favourite topic; the good old days.

“Look if you expect me to beat these Romans single handed we better get on.” Putting her heels to her pony’s side she urged her mount on towards the coast.

0=0=0=0


	2. Chapter 2

2.

**South-east Britain 54BCE.**

“BAAAA!”

Dawn lay on her back with her eyes tightly closed wondering which hell dimension she’d ended up in.

“BAAAA! BAAA!”

Her senses started to function and send her brain information.

“BAA!”

Which ever hell she was in it had grass, her fingers pulled at the stalks under her hand, she opened her eyes. It also had a blue sky with fluffy white clouds, a warm sun and a pleasantly cool breeze.

“BAAAAA!”

Sitting up she looked around, and sheep…lots of sheep, maybe this was the sheep dimension? Looking around, she found herself sitting on the side of a hill surrounded by more gently rolling hills. The hills were covered with short grass (and sheep) interspersed with clumps of what looked like thorn bush; the grass was speckled with white and yellow flowers that she recognised as Daisies and Buttercups. In the little valleys between the hills were clumps of small trees and bushes. Dawn thought she recognised where she was. This looked a lot like the Downs in south eastern England, she smiled for a moment; only in England could an area of upland be called the ‘Downs’, she caught the eye of a sheep who was watching her warily.

“What are you looking at?” Dawn asked the animal sharply.

The sheep broke eye contact and walked hurriedly away to join its fellows.

“BAA!” it said accusingly over its shoulder.

“Right!” Dawn took a deep breath of fresh air, it cleared her mind and helped her think.

Obviously the gem in the box was some sort of magical device that could transport people around, though why it would only transport her to the other side of the country she couldn’t at present explain. Being convinced that she was still in England, nowhere else she knew of looked quite like this, she turned a complete circle and searched for any signs of villages or other works of man, there was none.

“Hmmm,” Dawn said to herself quietly and pulled a thistle from her hair.

Maybe if she climbed the rest of the way to the top of the hill she’d be able to see a town or a village from there. Full of hope and not a little relief at not ending up in a hell dimension, Dawn strode up the hillside. All she’d have to do was find a village, phone the manor and someone would come and collect her. Patting the pocket of her jeans, she found she still had her purse and her credit cards. Unfortunately her cellphone was in the pocket of her jacket hanging behind the door in the library. But, it was a nice day, she wouldn’t need her jacket and she’d soon be home.

0=0=0=0

Riding along the track way that hugged the crest of the ridge and would eventually lead them to the coast, Ariawen looked over her shoulder at Marbod. It was plain to her what the old druid had been up to back there by the pool, he’d no doubt talked his way under some shepherd girl’s skirts. He’d tried the same with her on the second night after leaving her father’s fort. Of course he’d not got far; she still smiled when she remembered the look on his face after she’d thrown him into the stinging nettles. He’d left her alone after that, he’d even stopped watching her when she took off her tunic to wash.

Turning back to look where she was going Ariawen saw a band of warriors on the next ridge over making their way towards the coast. They were still on her tribe’s lands so they were probably her kinsmen, she signed with envy when she caught sight of the chariot carrying the warleader.

“Why couldn’t we bring a chariot?” she asked, “my father could easily spare one and a driver.”

“Because,” Marbod kicked his horse into a fast walk and came up beside her, “it would attract attention to us. A woman in a chariot indeed.” He laughed, but not too loud.

“A woman who is a strong warrior,” Ariawen gave Marbod an angry look, “stronger than any of her father’s warriors.”

The girl smiled to herself, she was in fact stronger than a ten of her father’s warriors.

“And isn’t being talked about the whole point of being a famous warrior?” she sneered at the druid and he leered back at her, “If people don’t talk about you and bards don’t sing about you what’s the point?” Sniffing she looked away from the old man, “I mean if I’m not to be allowed to talk about my victories, the enemies I’ve trampled under the wheels of my chariot I might as well have stayed at home and married Cadeym.”

Cadeym was the son of the chief of the fort closest to her father’s and she’d been betrothed to him before she’d changed. Ariawen had known him all her life he was like a big brother to her…but not too much, she giggled at the memory of various un-brotherly and un-sisterly things they’d done when their parents weren’t about, she rather missed Cadeym which made her feel sad again.

“Look girl,” Marbod sighed heavily, “the gods have given you a destiny, you have a duty to protect your people…” an idea seemed to form in Marbod’s mind as he spoke, “yes, you are the ‘Warrior of the People’,” the old man laughed at his own cleverness, “and as such you must put your own feeling to one side.”

“Whatever,” sighed Ariawen as she went back to daydreaming about Cadeym.

0=0=0=0

Having climbed to the top of the hill Dawn had failed to find any trace of a road, village or town.

“This is just silly,” she told herself, England wasn’t that big that you could find somewhere where there was absolutely no trace of civilisation. 

She’d not even seen a shepherd and his dog; maybe the gem had cast her further afield than she had thought.

“Okay,” Dawn scanned the horizon once more, there did seem to be more trees than she thought there aught to be, “if I start walking I’m bound to meet someone eventually.” 

She started walking down the opposite side of the hill from where she’d woken up. The weather was still nice she was unharmed and she was bound to find out what the heck was going on; gods, she was a powerful witch she’d think of something.

0=0=0=0

Pulling the javelin from the side of the deer Ariawen wiped the blade on the grass; she effortlessly threw the carcass over her pony’s back before jumping up herself. At least they’d have fresh meat tonight. They’d need to buy bread soon, and she was beginning to crave fruit, a diet of meat and bread was fine for a while but she wanted something else. Maybe if she could get Marbod to collect some mushrooms and edible roots she could make a stew. Her thoughts of cooking made her homesick for her mother and her little brothers and sisters. Oh well, she thought as she rode along to rejoin Marbod, it couldn’t be helped. Coming out of the small wood where she’d caught the deer she saw Marbod waiting for her on the track.

“Lazy old fart,” Ariawen muttered quietly to herself, and then more loudly, “got a good one here, we’ll eat well for a few days on this.”

“Did you thank the Lady of the Hunt?” Marbod wanted to know.

“Of course I did,” who did he think she was, some sort of barbarian?

“Good, good,” the old man looked up into the sky, “soon be evening, we’d better find somewhere to camp.”

“That valley yonder,” Ariawen pointed to a narrow valley full of trees, “I think there’s a stream there.”

“Put the deer on the pack animal,” Marbod ordered, “and go see.”

Lifting the deer effortlessly in one hand Ariawen placed it onto the back of the pack pony.

“You know it wouldn’t hurt if you helped more,” the girl pointed out, she wasn’t some farm girl to be ordered about, “no doubt you’ll expect me to gut and dress the meat and do the cooking.”

“Woman’s work,” he replied smugly.

Leaning down from her seat Ariawen grabbed hold of the Druid’s ankle and heaved him from his pony’s back.

“Is that ‘women’s work’ as well?” smiling at the groaning druid as he climbed to his feet, she turned her pony’s head and rode off to check out the valley and its wood.

0=0=0=0

Her feet had started to hurt some time ago, the sun was starting to drop in the western sky. Even with the long English summer evenings, Dawn knew that it would soon get dark. Glancing at her wrist watch, she found the blasted thing had stopped working and she suspected that it had stopped when the gem transported her here; wherever ‘here’ was. Having been walking all afternoon and seen no one, no houses and no roads; she’d also noticed, with a sense of growing foreboding, that she’d not seen one aircraft fly overhead.

Dawn needed to rest, have something to eat, maybe light a fire. Rest; now that was easy, all she had to do was stop and sit down, something told her that doing that out here in the open would be ‘bad’. There was a small valley with a wood over to her left maybe she could camp there. A fire would be easy, she’d just cast a ‘start fire’ spell and in seconds she’d have a merry blaze going. Next she needed food and water and life would be perfect…well not ‘perfect’; perfect would be being back at home having not been cast into…wherever she was.

Trying to think positively Dawn walked on, there was bound to be a steam or something, and part of being a witch was a knowledge of plants including which ones could be eaten and which ones to steer clear of…she’d be fine. Fine? Who the hell was she trying to kid? She was lost, alone and far from home, she looked at the surrounding countryside accusingly.

“What’s the betting there’s wolves?” she asked herself miserably.

0=0=0=0


	3. Chapter 3

3\. 

**Southeast Britain, 54BCE.**

Sitting next to her miserable, smoky little fire Dawn chewed on a root and cursed the monks for not giving her the memories of a girl scout. Lighting a fire hadn’t been that difficult, a little spell and ‘poof!’ hey presto a fire. The problem was keeping it going, Dawn had been unable to find enough dry wood to make a good blaze, and now the sun had gone down it felt pretty chilly in her short sleeved cotton blouse.

Her tummy growled at her, it wanted more than the tough root she was gnawing on. True she’d found some mushrooms which she'd tried to toast over the fire; they had fallen off the sticks she'd used to hold them next to the flames and had gone up in smoke. Next she'd found a few semi-ripe berries plus some leaves and the root she was presently trying to eat. Dawn looked at the offending article, not only was it proving tougher than her teeth but she was beginning to think that she was using up more calories trying to eat the thing than she’d receive from it once she’d got it down!

“Bastard monks!” Dawn muttered angrily, “Why couldn’t they give me the memories of a survival expert?”

Deep down Dawn knew the reason why; because she hadn’t been expected to last as long as she had. Throwing the root to one side Dawn stared into the flickering flames, she needed to get home; people would be worried. Dawn sniffed and brushed away a tear with the back of her hand.

“Won’t help to get all ‘cry-baby’,” she told herself.

‘Herself’ didn’t believe her because the tears continued to trickle down her face and drip onto her chest.

“Crap!” she said angrily as she tried to get a grip on her emotions.

Wiping her face the best she could, Dawn took a deep breath and steadied herself; crying achieved nothing…well not in this case. She needed to get home, she was a witch who was noted for her ability to cast portal spells through time and space, this should be easy for her, as simple as one, two, three, right?

Wrong! All of the portal spells she knew needed special herbs, spices and minerals; as there was no apothecary in sight Dawn resigned herself to a long stay…wherever she was. Most of the portal spells that didn’t open a portal to some hell dimension hadn’t been developed until the fifteenth or sixteenth centuries and often needed very complicated ingredients. Portals to hell dimensions, on the other hand, only needed you to say a couple of rhyming couplets and ‘wham!’, there you were up to your neck in demons…not an option.

The fire started to fade away and Dawn scrabbled to put the last of her store of dried wood on the fire. For a few minutes more the fire burnt fitfully before finally fading away to a weak red glow. Groaning Dawn wrapped her arms around herself; cold, hungry and frightened she started to think up desperate plans; maybe if she set the entire wood ablaze she’d be able to keep warm, but that was only as a last resort, perhaps something would turn up.

0=0=0=0

Sitting back against her saddlebags Ariawen belched loudly and threw another branch on the blazing fire. Making herself comfortable against the evening chill she wrapped her travelling cloak around herself and relaxed. Marbod and herself had found the camp site well before sundown, there was a clear spring close by and plenty of dead wood to make a good fire over which they could roast the deer that she’d killed earlier in the day. Somehow she’d even got Marbod to help with the chores and only had to cuff him around the ear once!

Being a chief’s daughter Ariawen was very aware of her position in life. While she didn’t mind doing her share of the work, she did object to the old druid trying to weasel his way out of doing anything by saying it was ‘women’s work’. A simple clip around the ear had persuaded the old goat to help out. While Ariawen had looked after the horses Marbod had built a fire and collected fire wood. When all was ready Ariawen had stripped off so she wouldn’t get blood and gore on her new clothes when she gutted the deer. 

However, she could feel Marbod’s eyes on her body as she worked and later when she washed the blood off in the steam. Many men had seen her naked before, no one thought it odd that you’d strip off to do some particularly dirty or messy task. It was just the way Marbod looked at her that made her skin crawl; she’d long ago decided that if he tried to put his hands on her in anything but a fatherly way; druid or not he’d lose the hand.

Glancing up at the stars Ariawen decided it was time to sleep; they’d be up early tomorrow and they expected to reach the coast by noon. Looking around Ariawen checked on the camp; the horses were contentedly eating the grass she’d cut for them. The fire was well banked and would burn gently until the morning. Her weapons were close at hand and Marbod was on the other side of the fire already snoring loud enough to wake the dead. So why did she feel so uneasy?

Snuggling down under her cloak she tossed and turned for a moment before sitting up again. Glancing around the darkened wood, which wasn’t really that dark, well, not to her anyway. In the dark, colours looked washed out and pale, but she could see things easily enough; Ariawen wondered for a moment if this was how an owl or a fox saw in the night. 

But, there was something tugging at the back of her mind, ever since she’d come into her new found strength and abilities, Ariawen had found she could sense danger. She knew that every warrior or hunter worth the name could sense when things weren’t quite right. But this was something more, something solid. It poked at her mind like a little brother or sister who wanted you to play with them and wasn’t going to give you any peace until you did. Sighing wearily Ariawen threw back her cloak and stood up, buckling on her sword belt she considered waking Marbod. No, she smiled to herself, let him wake up and find I’ve gone, she giggled quietly to herself as she tied back her hair. Picking up her shield she drew her sword and looked out into the wood.

“Now which way do I go?”

Her question was answered by a long drawn out scream notable not only for its volume but also by the way it seemed to cut right through her and made her teeth vibrate.

“That way!” Ariawen laughed and trotted off towards the noise.

0=0=0=0

Struggling with the great snake-like monster, Dawn screamed into the night, she doubted it would help however. A scaly hand clamped over her mouth as an arm tightened around her chest squeezing the breath out of her. Having not seen the creature slide up behind her (she’d been too busy wallowing in her own misery) the first she’d known of any trouble was when a long tail-like thing had wrapped itself around her waist.

Biting down on the hand across her mouth Dawn was gratified to hear the monster hiss loudly in pain. The hand was pulled rapidly away from her mouth, now if she could just stop the thing from crushing the life out of her she’d be able to say a spell and send this thing back to wherever it belonged. Pushing at the arm around her chest Dawn only felt it clutch at her harder, the other creature’s arm went around her neck and she felt the creatures legs and tail coil themselves around her lower body.

Feeling her ribs start to press against her lungs Dawn struggled feebly as a blackness, darker than the night, seemed to press in on her eyeballs. So this was it, she was going to die in an unknown land; killed by some anonymous demon. She’d never see her sister again; Buffy would never know what had happened to her. Still trying to push at the creature that held her so tightly, Dawn felt herself start to fall down a long dark tunnel into oblivion. It was as she was slipping away that she found she could hear a long wild yell that sounded as if it was getting nearer and then, suddenly, fantastically she could breathe again.

0=0=0=0

Trotting between the trees Ariawen sensed movement off to her left. As she altered the direction of her search she noticed the sound of something trashing around in the litter on the forest floor. Lengthening her stride she ran towards the source of the sound bringing her shield up to cover her body and readying her sword to slash any wrongdoer or monster into bloody ribbons.

Running between two trees Ariawen saw a strange snake like creature (like the monsters she saw in her dreams) roll about the forest floor as it grappled with a human figure. Checking her stride she hesitated for just a moment, her instincts were telling her that the creature needed to be killed and the person rescued but she wasn’t sure how to achieve this. A head long rush would probably result in both the monster and the person (who Ariawen could now see was an oddly dressed woman) dying. 

It occurred to Ariawen that she’d not actually had that much training in the ways of fighting. Every girl in her tribe was taught enough to use a weapon in the defence of their village or fort; but not how to fight, not properly. Seeing that the woman was having the life crushed out of her, Ariawen decided she must do something; maybe her new found instincts would tell her what to do.

Rushing over to the struggling pair Ariawen yelled a warcry and raised her shield before bringing the edge down sharply on the snake-man’s head. Immediately the snake-man hissed and let go of the woman, it writhed about on the ground as it clutched the back of its head with its hands. For a moment Ariawen stood and wondered about the idea of a giant snake thing with arms and legs. The creature’s tail whipped around her ankle and pulled her off balance, snapping out of her trance Ariawen slashed at the snake-man with her sword.

The creature howled with pain as its blood squirted across the floor of the wood, apparently not overly inconvenienced by its injury the snake-man sprang to its feet and turned to face the warrior girl. The monster hissed menacingly as its tongue flicked towards her. A moan of fear and worry escaped her lips and for a moment Ariawen wished she’d never been given these so-called gifts and she was just a normal girl looking forward to her wedding day.

The snake-man lunged at Ariawen; its claw tipped fingers raking across the face of her shield as she instinctively brought it up to protect herself. A faraway voice at the back of her head told her now would be a good time to thrust her sword into the monster’s belly. Obeying the voice in her head she stabbed ineffectually at the snake-thing. It sprang away from her as it dodged her clumsy thrusts. Again her inner voice told her to follow up on what it told her was an advantage; leading with her shield and raising her sword to chop at the beast she pushed the creature back only to feel a hot sharp pain in her thigh as the monster sank its claws into her leg.

0=0=0=0

Feeling the weight of the creature lessen, Dawn struggled free of its grasp, looking around the dimly lit clearing she saw a figure attack the beast with a sword and shield. Drawing great drafts of air into her lungs Dawn staggered to her feet and started to take an interest in what was going on around her. The warrior, although he or she was forcing the creature back wasn’t really getting the upper hand. Dawn’s suspicions were confirmed when the snake-thing sprang forward and sank it’s claws into the warrior’s leg. Realising from the cry of pain that escaped the warrior’s mouth that she was a woman, Dawn decided she’d better help. Now she could breath again she could use her magic.

“Pain!” Dawn pointed her finger at the creature and watched it fall to the ground and writhe in agony.

Laughing at the creatures piteous cries Dawn advanced until she was standing over the monster, her eyes and hair turning black as the night.

“Burn!” she told the snake-man, who obediently burst into flames lighting up the clearing as its screams split the night.

0=0=0=0


	4. Chapter 4

4.

**Southeaster Britain, 54BCE.**

Breathing deeply Dawn tried to centre herself; she hated using Word Power Magics because of what it did to her. But she’d been desperate and angry in fact just the sort of feelings a witch shouldn’t have before using such powerful magic. Words had a power all of their own, mixing them with magic could be very dangerous. But at least she was warm now. Feeling herself return to normal, Dawn started to take in her surroundings again, someone had distracted the demon (which was still merrily burning with a hot blue flame) and allowed her to escape its clutches and use her magic. Very quickly her eyes fell on the girl, the short-ish hair and the guy’s clothes didn’t fool her, not even the sword and shield. 

Sword and shield? Dawn had been in England long enough to know that swords and shields weren’t normally part of a young woman’s wardrobe. Three thoughts came to her mind one after another. First; she wasn’t in England. Second; she wasn’t on Earth. Third; she was in England but not necessarily WHEN she thought she was.

“Hi!” Dawn smiled at the girl/young woman; it was hard to tell by only the light of the burning demon.

The girl took a step away from her and lifted her shield to cover her body and hefted her sword, which suggested to Dawn that she was unsure whether to attack or not.

“Hi,” Dawn tried again this time with a friendly wave, “I’m Dawn and you are…?”

0=0=0=0

Watching the strange woman warily, Ariawen couldn’t decide what to do. This beautiful woman with her long, smooth, shiny hair and her pale complexion and almost child like features was obviously a powerful sorceress. No doubt she kept herself looking so young and beautiful by the use of magic potions. Her strange clothes added to her exotic appearance. Ariawen had always assumed that a sorceress would look like an old crone; but when she thought about it why would she? If a sorceress was that powerful she could look like what she wanted to; Ariawen glanced at the sorceress again and decided she must be very powerful. But all this wondering at the sorceress’ looks wasn’t helping her decide what to do. When she looked at the woman she felt she should kill her, but when she gripped her sword ready to attack the feeling left her.

“Greetings,” Ariawen’s heart nearly stopped at the sound of the woman’s words; she lifted her shield a little higher and once again tried to make a cut at the woman’s head.

Once again Ariawen found she couldn’t, maybe she’d already been bewitched. Maybe the sorceress could twist her mind so that she would do anything she told her to do.

“Greetings,” the woman said again this time making a gesture like a wave in the air, “I am Dawn, what is your name?”

The sorceress certainly had an odd way of speaking, which increased Ariawen’s suspicions that she must be from far away, maybe from as far as north of the Thames! The blue light from the burning demon cast odd shadows on the woman’s face but Ariawen found that her unease was beginning to fade now that the woman had spoken; again thoughts of having been bewitched entered her mind.

“I am Ariawen, daughter of Cunotigernos, chieftain of the Bibroci tribe,” announced Ariawen as bravely as she could.

0=0=0=0

The girl seemed frightened, which Dawn realised was quite understandable in one way but a little surprising in another. Dawn found she was getting the familiar ‘slayer-vibe’ off the girl (she always left a simple ‘Recognise Slayer Spell’ running). Obviously the girl was new to the whole ‘slayer gig’ and was still unsure of herself and her powers. Smiling again, in what she hoped was a friendly way; Dawn rubbed her arms to indicate she was cold.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a warm fire anyway near?” Dawn smiled hopefully, “The burning demon’s all well and good but it’s starting to smell.”

0=0=0=0

Fighting back the urge to giggle like one of her little sisters. Ariawen relaxed and found herself thinking that anyone who got cold like a normal person and complained that the burning demon didn’t smell nice couldn’t actually be evil. Letting her sword and shield rest by her side she smiled at the ‘probably not too evil sorceress’.

“I have a fire, come with me,” Ariawen started to lead the way through the wood.

0=0=0=0

Dawn decided that she didn’t like the druid, he was creepy and she didn’t like the way he looked at her or Ariawen. From what she’d been able to work out Marbod was acting as Ariawen’s watcher. But when Dawn had tried to introduce the concepts of a watcher and slayer both Marbod and Ariawen had looked at her mystified. It soon became apparent to her that neither of them had ever heard of a slayer let alone a watcher. It had also become obvious to Dawn that she was more lost than she’d thought she was.

Not being an expert on ancient British history Dawn couldn’t be sure when or where she was, both the locals had said something about going to the coast to fight the Romans, or at least Dawn thought they meant the Roman; she couldn’t really pin down when she was, not that it really mattered. It was beginning to dawn on her that she was going to be stuck here for some time, so being friends with the local slayer sounded like a good idea.

Ariawen seemed like a likeable enough girl; she was pretty with a snub nosed oval face, she had a wide hipped, buxom figure and nice red-gold hair (cut short at the moment), she smelt clean in an earthy, flowery scented way. When they had got to her little camp, she’d let Dawn sit by the fire and given her some roasted meat washed down with cool clear spring water. What little Dawn could remember about tribal customs this probably meant that she wasn’t going to be killed or other wise sacrificed to the local gods anytime soon. When they’d decided to go back to bed, Ariawen had insisted that Dawn should share her cloak. Whether this was out of generosity or simply because Marbod had offered to share his with Dawn she couldn’t be sure, but Dawn was glad that she had.

0=0=0=0

Waking the following morning Dawn was introduced to all of the joys of camping out; being American she wasn’t really aware of the dangers poised by stinging nettles. Worse she didn’t know the antidote that nature provided; she spent an uncomfortable half hour fidgeting and trying not to scratch her butt before the poison wore off.

“If you’re such a powerful sorceress,” Marbod spoke from the other side of the fire as they ate a breakfast of cold meat and berries, “why don’t you magic yourself home.”

“Ah!” Dawn thought quickly, it was obvious to her that Marbod didn’t like the idea of having her around in anything other than a bed partner capacity, “Well, that’s perfectly true, but I was drawn here. Things like that don’t happen without a reason so I’ve gotta find out why I’m here.”

Not sure whether her answer had satisfied the druid, Dawn went back to chewing on her piece of meat.

“So,” Dawn glanced at Ariawen who was squatting beside her, “where are you going?”

“We’re heading towards the coast,” supplied the girl, “we should get there before noon today,” she glanced up to check the position of the sun. “You’re welcome to come with us if you want…”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marbod glared from his side of the fire.

Noticing how Ariawen’s jaw became set and her eyes narrowed as she looked at the druid, Dawn thought someone was in for a nasty surprise.

“But I do!” snapped the girl, “I’m the warrior, the chieftain’s daughter, what I say goes!” Ariawen shot a look at Dawn, “Dawn is a powerful sorceress, she could help us defeat the Romans.”

“Oh! I don’t know if…” Dawn was silenced by a sharp look from Ariawen.

“Look!” Ariawen stood up quickly, “If I am what Dawn says I am…one of these Slayers, then I should be in charge, she told us so.”

“Well, that’s not quite what I…” again Dawn was silenced by another look from the redhead.

“She lies!” Marbod clambered to his feet picking up his long staff.

Being the only one left sitting Dawn rolled her eyes and got to her feet.

“Now guys,” she began but was totally ignored.

“I’m sick of you, old man,” Ariawen snarled, “always watching me or trying to find a way of getting between my legs.”

“And why shouldn’t I,” the druid clutched his staff across his chest, “you’re nothing but a silly farm girl with idea’s above her place in life.”

“I AM, AM I?” Ariawen’s hand started to move towards the hilt of her sword, “I suppose my place is having you fuck me silly! I’ll teach you some manners, dog!”

Ariawen’s sword flew from its scabbard as Marbod raised his staff ready to strike.

“STILL!” Dawn raised her hand and the two protagonists froze in place, “Alright, let’s all calm down,” she moved forward and removed the weapons from the slayer’s and watcher’s unresisting hands, “and try to work this out peacefully.”

Sighing Dawn shook her head, while Buffy and Giles had had their fallings out over the years they’d never been willing to try and kill each other. Oh well, she thought, time to play peace maker and released them from her spell.

0=0=0=0

The sun shone brightly down on the little party as they made their way slowly towards the sea. A fresh breeze with just a hint of salt in it made the grass of the ridgeway ripple like water. Dawn looked behind her from her position on the back of Ariawen’s pony, Marbod was following about twenty yards behind her, he was still sulking.

“Look,” Ariawen pointed ahead, “the sea!”

Dawn smiled as she heard the wonder in the girl’s voice, they’d made good time after their shaky start that morning and it looked like they’d get to the coast earlier than expected.

After Dawn’s demonstration of power when she’d prevented watcher and slayer from killing each other, she’d spent some time trying to explain how a watcher and slayer were supposed to work together. After about an hour, Dawn confessed to herself that she’d never met anyone as stubborn as these two ancient Brits! Marbod was still convinced that he knew all the answers and that Ariawen should do exactly what he told her. He also didn’t understand that he should help get the water, collect fire wood and generally help out.

On the other hand Ariawen was still convinced of her own superiority and that everyone, Dawn included (although she didn’t push that point too far as she was still impressed with Dawn’s abilities) should do as she said. As she’d pointed out even working together they couldn’t best her in a fair fight. Dawn had muttered something about fights never being fair at this point and decided to enforce a compromise.

Telling the warring parties that if they didn’t stop arguing amongst themselves the Romans and the monsters would win. Dawn wasn’t what she’d call happy about this idea of fighting the Romans; hadn’t the Romans won anyway? Wouldn’t her being here mess with the timeline? Dawn had shrugged to herself; you could go mad thinking about this stuff and decided that she could only do what seemed right at the time. The universe was big enough to look after itself.

Finally bringing the argument to a halt Dawn had warned everybody that if there was a recurrence she would turn everyone into toads! While Ariawen had seemed to believe, Marbod still didn’t look as if he really ‘believed’; it took a small display of magical lightning flashing around her hair and fingers for Dawn to convince the man.

0=0=0=0

“Isn’t it big!” gasped Ariawen from her seat in front of Dawn, “And so blue!”

Smiling at the girl’s obvious excitement, Dawn took in the sight. As they got closer to the coast they saw more bands of warriors walking towards the sea or having mock battles on the wide open spaces between the trees. Light, two horse chariots raced up and down the slopes of the hills as their drivers ran up and down the poles between the sweating horses. The warriors on the fighting platforms shouted out boasts of there deeds and what they intended to do to the Romans if they dared land. Closer yet the smell of wood smoke mixed with those of food, sweaty people, horses, trampled grass and human waste. Dawn wrinkled her nose just as Ariawen called out again and pointed.

“There!” she cried, “There are the Romans.”

Screwing up her eyes against the shine and glitter of the sun reflecting off the sea, Dawn saw them. Little white sails on the horizon, they didn’t look any more dangerous than a fleet of yachts from her own time but Dawn guessed that under each of those sails was a ship packed with Roman soldiers.

“They’ll be here either tonight or early tomorrow morning.” Dawn turned to find Marbod sitting his pony just behind them, “We better find somewhere to camp,” the old man turned his pony’s head away from the sea and headed down into one of the little valleys.

0=0=0=0


	5. Chapter 5

5.

**Southeast Britain, 54BCE.**

Standing apart from the great army, Dawn, Ariawen and Marbod looked down from the White Cliffs of what some day would be Dover. They’d spent the night camped near a party of warriors from Ariawen’s tribe. By performing a few simple magic tricks for the warriors, Dawn had supplied her little group with food, beer and a warm cloak for herself. Now they stood and watched the Roman fleet as it waited just off shore. The ship’s sails had been pulled up (or whatever you called it) and the ships were being kept in position by using great oars that rose and fell slowly like wings as the ships bobbed up and down on the gentle swell.

It was as if the Romans were frightened to land and so they should be, thought Dawn. Looking up and down the headlands and beaches below she could see thousands of warriors, she’d never seen so many people in one place at one time. The warriors stood in their tribal warbands looking more ordered than Dawn thought possible. Between the warbands were parties of horsemen or chariots. 

Down on the shingle beach below where she stood more warbands faced out to sea while chariots raced up and down the beach, stones flying from the horse’s hooves and the chariot’s wheels. On the beach or up on the headlands men readied slings, bows and javelins waiting to greet the Romans with a hail of deadly missiles if they were so foolish as to try to land.

Deciding that if she were the Romans she wouldn’t leave the safety of the ships, in fact, she’d be heading back to France right now. Dawn began to wonder if she’d got her history right, surely the Roman’s couldn’t win against all these fierce warriors.

“Well, sorceress,” Marbod spoke from just over her left shoulder, “what are you going to do? Whistle up a storm to drown the invaders perhaps?” 

The old druid chuckled nastily and Dawn started to feel angry that he still doubted her; she’d show the old coot; after all surely a little ‘Fear and Confusion’ spell wouldn’t hurt?

0=0=0=0

**The Roman Invasion Fleet.**

Standing in the prow of his flagship, Gaius Julius Caesar, commander of the Roman armies in northern Gaul watched the barbarians as they waited on the beach. There did seem to be an awful lot of them; they yelled insults at the ships and made obscene gestures as they gesticulated with their weapons. Maybe the time had come to turn the fleet about and sail back to Gaul. No! He told himself firmly, trying to stiffen his resolve, no, that would never do. If he did that chances were his political ambitions would be dashed to ruins and all the hard work of these last few years would come to naught. He turned to a Tribune;

“Order the men to start landing.”

The Tribune looked at Caesar, his face pale with fear; he swallowed before saluting and turned to pass the order down the chain of command.

Banners were waved, trumpets blown and orders were shouted, but nobody moved; it was as if the legionaries had been nailed to the decks of their ships. Looking left and right along the lines of ships Caesar waited impatiently for something to happen. They were now about fifty paces from the beach and every now and then an arrow or sling stone would splash into the sea or ‘thunk’ into the side of the ship.

“Why isn’t anybody moving?” Caesar asked impatiently of the Tribune next to him.

“I-I think they’re all scared sir!” replied the Tribune nervously.

“Rubbish!” Caesar tried to laugh off the situation, “No, there’s probably just been a mix up in orders,” he fixed the Tribune with a steely glare, “Deal with it!”

“Sir!” the Tribune saluted again, “Right away sir!”

The Tribune turned and ran down into the main part of the ship.

“First Spear Centurion!” he called as he pushed his way through the packed ranks of legionaries.

“SIR!” Yelled the man as he appeared next to the Tribune making him jump a little.

“Centurion,” the Tribune adjusted his helmet which had fallen over his eyes in the crush, “why aren’t the men jumping off the ship and slaughtering those barbarian scum?” he pointed towards the beach.

“SIR?” the Centurion yelled in the Tribune’s ear quizzically.

“Deal with it!” The Tribune turned and hurriedly made his way back to Caesar’s side.

The Centurion turned and studied the legionaries with a baleful eye; men quailed at his glance and shrank away from him. What to do, wondered the Centurion, the General wanted a landing and piles of slaughtered barbarians; who was he to deny the General his sport? The Centurion’s eye fell on the man he wanted.

“Second Spear Centurion Lucius Vorenus!” called the First Spear Centurion; Vorenus pushed his way over to the First Spear Centurion.

“Sir!” he called standing at rigid attention.

“Why aren’t the men leaping ashore and killing those fuckers?” the Centurion pointed to the barbarian hordes on the beach.

“No idea, Sir!” replied Vorenus.

“SEE TO IT!” screamed the First Spear before turning and stomping off through the crowd of soldiers who opened a path to let him pass.

Standing alone for a moment Vorenus turned to run his eye over the legionaries standing around him, very soon he saw the man he wanted.

“Legionary Titus Pullo!” he called, “Front and centre!”

Stepping out of the ranks Pullo marched up to Vorenus and stood to attention.

“Follow me,” Vorenus lead the puzzled legionary over to where part of the side of the ship had been removed so as to allow the soldiers to jump down into the sea.

“Stand here!” ordered Vorenus pointing to the deck near the side of the ship.

Taking a step forward Pullo gave Vorenus a suspicious look; he didn’t like this, not one little bit.

Unperturbed Vorenus looked around for the second element he needed for his plan to work. He stepped over to a standard bearer and snatched the cohort’s standard from the man’s trembling hand. Walking back to Pullo he thrust the standard into Pullo’s hand.

“Can you swim?” Vorenus asked Pullo in a whisper.

“No!” Pullo shook his head; no he didn’t like this at all!

“Pity,” Vorenus pushed Pullo and the standard into the sea.

Glancing over the side to see Pullo come to the surface coughing and spluttering but still holding the standard, Vorenus turned to look at the shocked soldiers still on the ship, he drew his sword and pointed at the shore.

“SEE!” he cried, “See how Titus Pullo, hero of the Thirteenth, attacks the enemy single handed!”

A collective gasp of surprise rose from the soldier’s throats.

“Would you let him fight alone!?” called Vorenus.

“NO!” yelled the soldiers as they surged towards the ship’s side.

“FOLLOW ME!” shouted Vorenus as he leapt into the sea after Pullo.

Moments later the sea was full of Romans making their way towards the shore.

0=0=0=0

Dawn wasn’t sure what had gone wrong, everything had turned to crap really quickly and she was still trying to come to terms with it. At first the spell appeared to be working; the Romans had stayed aboard their ships and hadn’t made a move towards the shore. Then, just as Dawn thought that they were on the point of sailing away a Roman soldier had jumped into the sea and started to make his way to shore. Moments later more soldiers jumped from the ship and followed the first soldier towards the beach. The actions of this one man seemed to break the spell as more and more troops jumped from their ships and struggled through the surf to battle the tribesmen on the shore.

At first the warbands met the invaders where the sea met the beach; they appeared to be holding the Romans back, but it didn’t last. Great arrows shot out from the ships to smash through the ranks of warriors killing five or six men at a time. Able to shoot into the flanks of the warbands as they moved along the beach; the Romans started to get the upper hand. The Celtic warbands were slowly pushed back towards the mouths of the valleys that gave access to the beaches. While the chariots and horsemen made off down the beach out of range of the Roman missiles. After a short but vicious fight at the mouths of the valleys the warriors started to melt away into the countryside. Luckily for them the Romans had no cavalry to pursue them, so the tribesmen were able to make good their escape.

0=0=0=0

Almost incandescent with rage at not being able to get into the fight, Ariawen looked fit to chew nails.

“How is a warrior supposed to make a name for herself,” she demanded as they trotted away from the coast, “if she can’t even get into the fight?”

“I’ve a feeling,” Dawn called from her seat behind Ariawen, “you’ll get more chances to fight soon enough.”

“Ha!” barked the druid, “So much for your spells, Sorceress!”

“Hey!” Dawn didn’t like the hint of defensive whining in her voice, “It held them on their ships…for a while, didn’t it?”

“True,” admitted the druid, “but where were the balls of fire and the thunderbolts raining from the sky…”

“Look,” Dawn was getting angry now, “at least I tried to stop them. All you seem to do is sit and complain.”

“SHUT UP!” shouted Ariawen, “Both of you.”

For a moment Dawn looked at the back of the slayer’s head angrily, how dare she tell her to ‘shut up’, she’d teach the insolent little puppy some manners… Breathing out heavily Dawn felt the anger leave her body, that had been close she’d nearly done something bad. She needed to keep a tighter rein on herself and not let the magics take over like that.

“Look,” Ariawen spoke in more measured tones now, “we need to get away from here so we don’t get caught by the enemy. Then we collect some warriors and we come back and slaughter the swine.”

Now that was a sensible idea, thought Dawn, she could live with that. Maybe she’d remember what was supposed to have happened in the real history because things just didn’t feel right to her, not the way they’d turned out.

0=0=0=0

Sitting by their camp fire, Dawn chewed on a piece of tough meat, she spat some gristle into the fire making it hiss then pulled her cloak more securely around her shoulders. She’d noticed that the nights were colder here than in her own time.

“Honestly, Ariawen, this shouldn’t be the job for the slayer,” she explained, “This sort of thing shouldn’t deflect her from her true mission in life.”

“Which is?” the girl drank from a beaker of weak beer.

“To fight the monsters,” Dawn scratched at her hair thinking she probably had flees or something, “vampires and demons. The slayer is the only one that can do these things.”

Even in Dawn’s ears this all sounded pretty hollow and pointless considering what was going on all around them. It was now more than a week since the Romans had landed, and the tribes’d had about as much success against the invaders as they’d had on the first day. Things were looking grim and warriors were starting to lose heart and drift off home; chieftains were starting to say that maybe there should be a peace.

On the other hand Ariawen had been fairly successful in combat and had attracted a band of warriors who were more willing than their fellows to make a fight of it. Marbod had actually become useful during this time, his ability to harangue the tribesmen into action and his medical skills proved invaluable. Dawn still cast her spells, but she’d found that the Romans were more resistant to her ‘panic and confusion’ spells than were most people. So, she concentrated on camouflage and illusion spells which appeared to work just as well as they normally did.

“So,” Ariawen’s eyes flashed in the firelight, “what is she supposed to do when her home and lands are being taken from her by a human foe?”

“Yeah, well,” Dawn sighed, there was no good answer to this, “I suppose she has to fight like everyone else.”

“I could understand if I’d seen any of these creatures of which you speak,” Ariawen threw the bone she’d been picking the meat from into the fire, “but apart from the one that attacked you, they’ve only come to me in my dreams.”

“I think the Sorceress is right,” Marbod had been listening to their conversation, “to a point.”

The old druid’s attitude to Dawn had changed slightly over the last few days once he’d seen the effect of her magics.

“In normal times the work of these slayers seems too important for her to worry about the affairs of men,” Marbod nodded in agreement with himself. “If all she says is true, her own sister has saved the world countless times. It seems to me that the gods call the slayer were she is most needed,” the old man shrugged. “So why is Ariawen needed here? The only monsters I can see are these accursed Romans.”

The druid lapsed into silence and they started to arrange their cloaks and animal skins for the night. Wrapping herself in her cloak, Dawn wondered if the randy old druid was right, maybe there was something evil about the Romans or one of their leaders was a demon or something; whatever, she yawned. Tomorrow was another day, tomorrow she might find out why she was here.

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	6. Chapter 6

6.

**Southeast Britain, 54BCE.**

Crying out, Dawn surrendered herself to the waves of pleasure that coursed through her body, knowing that all too soon it would be over. Having found out, purely by accident (she'd accidentally 'fallen' on a warrior's penis), that pre-battle sex helped relax her and rid her of some of her anxiety. This all had the effect of making her magics more effective and today she needed to be focused as well as powerful.

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The Warleaders, who commanded the warbands that fought against the Roman invaders, soon discovered that simply charging at the Romans was a quick way of getting themselves and their warriors killed. The more wise amongst them had noted that when the Romans where in their formed ranks, if the first rush didn’t overpower them, you might as well back off; because nothing short of a miracle would break the Roman line thereafter. Night attacks had proved futile too, the Romans built little forts every night and always had men alert and on watch for any attack. Sneaking up on these forts and shooting a few arrows or throwing burning javelins into the encampment might disturb the Roman’s rest but achieved little else.

However, the Romans weren’t invulnerable, they still had to come out of their forts to forage for food and they had few cavalry to protect their foot soldiers while they were working. If a warband or force of cavalry and chariots were able to surprise these working parties. The fleeing Romans could be cut down before they had a chance to form ranks. Sudden attacks on marching columns as they past through woods had also proved effective. The trick was to know when to call off an attack and to get your warriors to fall back when they were told. Oddly the Romans were uncomforted by the tribesmen’s chariots; they didn’t seem to know how to handle the agile little vehicles. The Warleaders had noticed this and tried to use it to their advantage.

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Pulling up her trousers Dawn thanked the young warrior who had brought her to such an amazing, mind blowing orgasm, before turning to walk back to were Ariawen was getting her warband ready for the coming battle. There was no plan to the defence, at least none that Dawn could see. To her it seemed that a tribe would attack or not as it suited them. The warband that had formed around Ariawen, Marbod and herself was made up of warriors from several different tribes. They were held together only by the fact that Ariawen was a heroic and successful leader.

Today, it had been decided that the band would attack the invaders as they passed through the valley below them. The district they were in was a prosperous farming area; it had been thought that the Romans would disperse to harvest the grain that ripened in the early summer sun. If they did, the band would leap on them from the woods that lined the valley’s sides. If they didn’t they’d wait for another opportunity and maybe attack the Roman’s rearguard.

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“Now there’s a cat that’s got the cream!” laughed Ariawen when she saw Dawn emerge from the darkness of the wood.

There was a general wave of good natured laughter, everyone was aware of Dawn’s pre-battle preparations.

“Jealous!” Dawn stuck her tongue out at the girl as she approached.

“Damn right I’m jealous!” complained Ariawen as she used a handful of grass to brush down the coat of one of her chariot horses, “This ‘no sex’ for the slayer rule is un-natural.”

“Yes,” Dawn buckled on the captured Roman short sword that she’d taken to carrying, “well, you’ll thank me for it when you’re not nine months pregnant and trying to fight off a vampire.”

Shrugging noncommittally Ariawen went back to looking after her horses.

“Any news from the scouts?” Dawn asked.

“Its as we guessed,” nodded Ariawen, “the Romans will be here soon.”

“Right,” sighed Dawn, “I better get my mojo on.”

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Walking slowly through the field of grain, Titus Pullo bent down and started to harvest the crop with the sickle he’d been issued. This sort of foraging had two objectives; first, and to Pullo the most important, it provided food for him and his mates. Second, it denied food to the enemy and that was never a bad thing. Standing up he looked around; something didn’t feel quite right, he scratched the back of his head as he tried to puzzle out what was wrong.

The sun shone down brightly, the birds sung in the trees as if they hadn’t a care in the world; which they wouldn’t, thought Pullo wryly, ‘cause they were birds. It just all looked too normal and that, he felt, was very wrong. Where were the local barbarians? Why weren’t they howling down on him and his mates like fiends from the underworld? They never usually missed an opportunity like this.

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Any moment now, Ariawen stood in her chariot and raised her arm ready to give the signal to charge. Dawn’s magics were working, the invaders had no idea they were walking into a trap. Dawn had tried to explain it to her; the Romans would ignore the warriors until they started to charge, as far as the invaders were concerned they were all by themselves in a valley full of food. Perhaps a few of the stronger willed ones might feel a little unease but most would see nothing amiss until it was, hopefully, too late.

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Trying to cast off the feeling of unease Centurion Vorenus took off his helmet and ran his hand through his short cropped red-blond hair. His eyes swept over the half manipul that was out harvesting the grain. He stood with the other half of the manipul under arms just in case the locals decided to attack. Turning he looked over the heads of his men to see the rest of the column start to march along the side of the valley and past his own little unit. He caught a glimpse of Caesar’s personal standard, the general was with his cohort today. Just as he turned to face his front, Vorenus heard a sound like thunder getting closer and closer.

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The wind blew through Ariawen’s hair as her chariot bounced across the field towards the Romans, this was how to make war, she thought and cried joyfully out to her gods. Her driver ran up the pole between the galloping horses, he laughed and shook his genitals at the shocked Romans who’d only just started to run.

Steadying herself against the motion of the chariot, Ariawen hefted a javelin in her hand before casting it at a fleeing Roman. The man caught the weapon in the middle of his back, he tripped over his own feet as his arms flailed and fell coughing blood onto the trampled grain. 

“Onward!” she urged her driver, “Faster!”

Glancing left and right she saw the other chariots of her force spread out in an uneven line, between the chariots horsemen galloped hurling their own javelins at the fleeing soldiers. Yes, she thought, this time they would crush them, this time they would send the enemy running for their lives back to their ships. Bringing down yet another running Roman, Ariawen picked up her last javelin, looking forward for a new target she saw the short line of enemy as they formed into a shieldwall, the survivors of the foraging party taking shelter behind them.

“TURN!” she ordered, Dawn had warned her about, as she’d put it, ‘over doing things’, it wasn’t time yet to crash into formed bodies of enemy troops, that would wait for the second part of her plan.

The driver hauled on the reins and the horses turned sharply to the right. As the chariot crossed the front of the little clump of Romans she cast her javelin as hard as she could. She saw it strike a man’s shield, penetrate it and then punch through his armour. The man fell oozing blood, but as soon as he fell hands dragged him out of the line and another man stepped forward to take his place.

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Blowing his whistle Vorenus signalled what remained of the manipul to start retreating towards the main column. Looking over the field he saw the chariots and horsemen gallop about confusingly never giving him the chance to count their numbers or any clue as to which direction they would come at him from next.

About twenty of his men were either, killed, wounded or run off; he looked behind him to see manipuls from the rest of the cohort start to turn off the track and form a line to face the enemy. Slowly he guided his men towards a gap in the line; once the cohort had formed up in battle order they’d be able to sweep the enemy from the field.

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Boys ran forward with bundles of spare javelins to distribute them amongst the chariots and horsemen; another of Dawn’s ideas. Ariawen smiled, not only was Dawn a powerful Sorceress but she had clever ideas that Ariawen would never have thought of. Looking towards the enemy, she saw them marching forward in their neat little squares of men that they seemed to like so much. They looked very impressive, frightening even, they gave the impression of being unstoppable, indestructible. Ariawen grinned to herself, she’d see about that. As the Romans marched towards her force they exposed their backs to the woods on the other side of the valley where her foot warriors waited.

Yelling at the top of her voice Ariawen got her force into some sort of order; a long line of chariots mixed in with clumps of horsemen. She turned to see the horn blowers run up behind her chariot, right on time (another of Dawn’s phrases).

“BLOW!” she ordered and the musicians put their horns to their mouths and blew as hard as they could.

The noise the horns made was like a cow giving birth, but Ariawen didn’t care about that as long as the noise reached the warriors on the other side of the valley. For a moment nothing happened and Ariawen thought the footmen hadn’t heard her signal. But then a great roar, like the sound of the sea hitting the beach, erupted from the woods as the warriors started to run towards the enemy.

“FORWARD!” she yelled as her chariot started to bounce across the field again, “FORWARD TO VICTORY!”

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“Cack!” cursed Pullo as he tried to pull the javelin from the discarded shield; whoever had thrown it had been a strong bastard, it had gone straight through the shield and killed the man carrying it! He straightened his helmet before settling the shield on his arm. Pullo drew his sword and was just about to take his place in the rear rank of his manipul when he heard a great shout from behind him, he glanced over his shoulder to see hordes of screaming, blue painted savages burst from the woods.

“Fuck sake!” he sighed before yelling a warning and turning to face the new enemy.

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Almost there, Ariawen felt the excitement build up in her chest; it felt like her heart was going to explode. As she had hoped the warriors from the wood would hit the rear of the Roman formation just as her own force crashed into the front; lets see how they dealt with that, she thought.

Casting javelins as fast as she could she saw the Roman force loom up in front of her like a wall of flesh and iron; but they weren’t running. Ariawen started to feel a little uneasy, but if they pushed the attack home the Romans wouldn’t stand a chance. She hefted another javelin in her hand ready to throw; she saw the Romans lift their own spears and she crouched behind her shield ready for the flurry of spears that would greet her approach. Only a few more paces now.

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“THROW!” ordered Vorenus at the top of his voice and the front rank hurled their pila; he blew his whistle and the second rank took the place of the first.

“THROW!” he yelled again and the iron tipped spears flashed towards the enemy bringing down men and horses and causing chariots to crash into a mangled mess of kicking, screaming horses and splintered wood. 

He blew another blast on his whistle and the third and final rank stepped forward.

“THROW!” again the pila flew towards the enemy as the men of the third rank whipped out their swords ready to meet the survivors.

It was then that Vorenus realised he was going to be a victim of his own success, he saw the chariot start to crash as one of its horses went down, it slewed around, but momentum kept it driving forward towards his line.

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A Roman javelin caught her driver high in the chest; he staggered back bumping into Ariawen before falling off the back of the chariot. Looking back from the dead chariot driver Ariawen was just in time to see a spear heading towards her. She caught it on her shield and watched in horror as it punched through almost spearing her in the chest. As the spear lost its force the shaft dropped bending the soft iron head trapping it in her shield and making it useless.

Fighting to free herself from the shield Ariawen looked up to see another spear catch her right hand horse in the chest. The animal screamed and fell dragging the chariot around to the left. The wheel on that side caught in the earth and started to topple the vehicle over. Clinging on for her life Ariawen saw that the chariot had been going fast enough to send herself and it crashing into the Roman line.

Placing her foot on the side of the chariot as is swung around; Ariawen drew her sword before vaulting into the midst of the Roman formation. The chariot and its remaining horse crashed into the neat, ordered Roman line reducing a section of it to bloody ruin. Before the Romans could fill the gap Ariawen landed amongst the dead and dying, she started to lay about her with her sword as shefought to make the breach wider.

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“FUCK! GODS BELOW! SHIT!” snarled Pullo as he stepped back from the fight to let another man take his turn.

There was a terrific crash from behind him and he felt someone stumble into him and collapse by his feet. Turning quickly Pullo saw a great gap in the line where a chariot had smashed into it.

“Fuck!” he swore breathlessly as he stepped into the breach.

A female warrior stood in the gap hacking about with her sword which bit into shields sending pumps of wood and metal flying in all directions. Men lost arms and legs as they tried to halt the progress of this Menerva come to life. Pullo saw warriors from other chariots dismount and throw themselves into the breach and horsemen push their snorting steeds into the fray.

Legionaries detached themselves or where pushed into the gap by centurions, but nothing seemed to be able to halt this red haired Amazon’s advance. Her sword rose and fell like a butcher’s cleaver cutting down men left and right. Blood squirted making the ground traitorous and coating the woman’s body with a fine sheen of red. All too soon it was Pullo’s turn to face her.

Taking up his stance with his shield advanced and his sword ready to stab Pullo advanced on the woman. She leapt and pranced like some deadly dancer as she cut her way further into the Roman formation. It didn’t seem to bother her that she carried no shield, in fact it only appeared to make her more deadly. All too soon Pullo found himself face to face with the warrior. She turned to face him, her lips pulled back in a wide grin exposing her white teeth. She seemed to be moving inhumanly fast to Pullo as he pulled his arm back ready to punch with his shield.

It was then that Pullo became, distracted, just for an instant his eyes fell to her blood smeared breasts as they bounced and wobbled in front of him. He’d often been told that women would be his downfall and today it was certainly true. Seizing on Pullo’s hesitation the woman caught him a terrific blow on the side of the helmet with her sword. Feeling his legs give way from under him, Pullo started to see his world turn black. His knees buckled and he fell to the blood soaked ground, his last thought before unconsciousness claimed him was to pull his shield over himself so as not to be trampled in the crush.

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Suddenly Ariawen found herself in a small area of calm, all around her men struggled and died. Turning she readied herself to go back into the fight, but something caught her eye. A man on a horse, she moved a couple of paces towards him, he was an important man, she could tell from how fine his horse and armour was, and by the way the men around him held their weapons so grimly.

“This must be him,” Ariawen muttered to herself, “Caesar!”

If she could kill him the Romans would lose heart and flee, being leaderless they might even leave her tribe’s lands and go back to Gaul. Lifting her sword and yelling a warcry Ariawen charged at the Roman and his guards. She had only gone a few paces when the cramps hit her, she groaned and stumbled before regaining her balance. The pain she felt was like that she sometimes felt when she had her period. Dawn had told her that some of the slayers in her land felt like this when they were close to something really evil. Yes, she steeled herself as she ran on, this Roman was evil he wanted to conquer her people and take their lands. But when she looked at the Roman Warleader the pain eased off, and when she looked at the big man next to him the pain increased.

“NO!” she wailed as she realised what was happening, everything Dawn had told her about the slayer and her purpose came flooding back into her mind.

Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes, no this couldn’t be, she sobbed. She was just a couple of paces away from saving her people and becoming the greatest warrior of all time and…and she’d have to step aside and kill the demon in human form that stood next to Caesar. Dawn had told her that the slayer was called where she was needed most; although there was no obvious evil presenting itself at present; evil was tricky, it would spring out and bit you on the butt when you least expected it.

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Standing in the ruin of what had once been his manipul, Vorenus looked around for the female warrior who had cut her way almost single handed through his force. Wiping his blood stained face with a trembling hand he saw Pullo stagger to his feet from where he’d been struck down.

“PULLO!” Vorenus grabbed hold of the man as he stumbled about and pulled him to his side.

It was then that Vorenus saw her; the fiend in female form that had slashed and hacked her way through the Roman line was making her way towards where Caesar and his staff stood. Pulling a dazed Pullo behind him, Vorenus ran across the battlefield to come up behind the woman. She hadn’t noticed him she was concentrating on the general and his staff.

At the last moment the woman appeared to veer away from Caesar and attack a Tribune to the general’s left. She buried her sword in the man’s belly punching straight through his armour and out his back. Vorenus pulled back his arm and stabbed the woman in the kidneys just as she was attacked by the rest of Caesar’s body guard.

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Sobbing with regret Ariawen lifted her sword and brought it slashing down on the demon. He looked no different than any other man but as her sword bit into his flesh she could feel the dark power spill out into the air around her, she watched the demon fall as she felt the Roman swords thrust into her like red hot irons.

“Morrigu help!” she cried to the Mother Goddess as the black battle birds rose up all around her and she fell into the Goddess’ gentle caress.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Epilogue.**

**The Watcher’s Library.**

“Dawn?” Giles looked up from studying the sliver of wood in his hand.

“What?” Dawn glanced distractedly at the empty box in her hand.

“Did you say something?” Giles replaced the wooden ‘postcard’ on the table.

“No,” Dawn had the strangest feeling she’d forgotten something, “no, I thought I’d found something but it’s just an empty box.”

Putting the box down Dawn looked around the room a puzzled frown on her face.

“That darn clock’s wrong again,” Dawn observed with a sigh.

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**South-east Britain 54BCE.**

Standing on the headland Marbod watched as the last Roman ship sailed away back to Gaul. He sighed deeply and shook his head sadly. He would miss, Ariawen the Slayer and Dawn the Sorceress, for all of their odd ways. He thought back to that last battle as he stared out over the sea, finding Ariawen’s body. She'd got so close to the Roman leader, Caesar, she could have easily cut him down; but at the last moment she'd stepped aside and attacked the man next to him.

Maybe Ariawen had been able to see things other people couldn’t, perhaps the man had been a devil or monster. Maybe the Sorceress had been right all along, the ‘Slayer’, as she’d called Ariawen, shouldn’t get involved in the wars of mankind, she had a higher calling. Not that he’d been able to ask the damn woman because she’d disappeared at almost the same moment that Ariawen had died. He’d seen her go, one moment she was there, then in a heartbeat she was gone. 

He thought back to all the tales she had told about her home and her sister and all her friends. Smiling Marbod wondered if the man she’d called ‘Giles’ was anything like him, he certainly sounded as if he filled the same function as he, Marbod, had. Sighing again Marbod leant against his staff; he still had a lot of work to do. He would have to talk to his brothers and have them watch in case another girl like Ariawen should appear. He laughed a little to himself, they would become (what had Dawn called this Giles fellow?), yes that was it, Watchers. They also needed to discuss how they should employ another girl like Ariawen if her like ever come to these shores again.

The Roman ship was well out to sea now, almost half way to the horizon. Marbod wondered if the Romans would ever come back. He laughed, not in his life time he hoped. Turning away from the sea he started to walk towards his home and as he walked he hummed a tune to himself. Once he had the tune fixed firmly in his mind he started to compose the words that would tell of Ariawen’s strength, bravery and beauty. If he’d not honoured her in life, as perhaps he should have, he could at least sing her praises in death.

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**Gaul 54BCE.**

The girl awoke and found she was lying in the back of a cart trussed up like a Christmas turkey. After lying there for a couple of minutes collecting her thoughts and after trying to work out where she was, she decided to act. Easily breaking the ropes that tied her hands and feet, she jumped up and quickly killed the two jokers who’d been driving the cart. No one was going to rape and sell her! Faith started to rifle through the two dead perverts clothing, she’d need money to get herself home to Sunnydale.

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**Crankie Manor, 2012.**

The library was back to its normal tidy state now that the bits of wood with their writings had been passed on to the British Museum. Giles had been satisfied that there was nothing mystical about them and they were too big a find to keep at the Manor. He’d phoned one of his contacts at the museum and they had dispatched experts who’d eventually taken everything back to London. The museum people had left the two stone slabs with Giles saying that they weren’t particularly valuable or rare; they took photographs before heading back to civilisation. One of the historians had expressed surprise that the slabs had turned up in this country. He suspected they’d been brought from Italy by some Victorian traveller or collector.

“They’re sort of Roman tombstones,” Giles had explained when he and Dawn examining the stone slabs.

Having translated the inscriptions Giles and Dawn had discovered they belonged to a rich merchant and his wife. They’d lived a long and happy life together having many 'strong sons' and 'beautiful daughters', or so the inscription claimed. Glancing at the woman’s headstone Dawn wondered what her life had been like. The carving of her face looked vaguely familiar.

“You know, Giles,” Dawn studied the woman’s likeness closely, “she looks a bit like Faith, older but…”

“What?” Giles bent down to look at the carving again, “Yes,” he sounded unconvinced; “I suppose she does…a little. Oh well, back to work.”

“Shall we open that box next?” Dawn walked back to her desk and sat down.

“I suppose so,” sighed Giles, “but let’s do that tomorrow, eh?”

“Yeah, lets,” agreed Dawn.

As they got back to their more mundane work, Dawn couldn’t help looking at the woman’s headstone again.

“Who were you, Fidelia Arsenius?” she asked, but got no answer.

THE END.

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End file.
